The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, February 18, 1906, Page 6

THE SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL. John Blossom blind the mainspring of his life was snapped. BEm- bittered and sensl- tive, be shunne@ eompanionship, his small annuity suf- ficing for a cheap lodging and meals at & neighboring res~ taurant. It was ters rible beyond expres- be blind, to be life me sior reproved a ht t'uver r name?’ he demanded ur who's you?” ossom name; bend down.” Then whi s ear, “I sl she scempered away, ‘Blossom—B- call you slos- nging back -0-8-5-0-m." hievously, It was & week before they met again; s mood was Jesperate. “You is ' awful, Biossom,” piped the shrill “but you can't frighten me.” not scared come and talk to trownt oe, don’t "low me In lodgers’ rooms. Elossom feit the rebuff, and, reaching the top floor, stumbled into his room and slammed the door. Seated on his cot he clenched bis hands in the agony of his belplessuess. “Oome,” he cried sharply in answer to s tUmid rep, whereat some one entered, “What is his nerves strained whom b 1t?™ be half ghouted, to the point of frenzy. could mot recognize. Just me, Blossom. excep Then, chiid's eves roved ov ghted on tb Does you moved & t's precisely what There, before him, pride and b “Poor dear,” she sympathized in an old- ned manner. It's dark, Dora—never any light—that's His volce broke why I cannot write.” with a half s=. “I'm dreadful sorry. Let me do it for you. I print now—and I learn fast; see if I don’t.” She tossed the papers aside and climbed into a chair, sucked loudly at the pencil to make it black. “What will we write, Blossom?” Receiving no answer, she looked up. Her companion’s head was pillowed on his arms; his shoul- Could & man ery, even as she sometimes @id? Dora scrambled to her feet and hurried from the room, to ders heaved. return a few minutes later flushed and breathless. A “Here's Miss Arabella,” -she cried, thrusting a doll into the man’s hands, “When I get cryin’ I just hold her tight; she comforts lots. Muver's calling; hold Miss Arabella close, Blossom.” The doll became the first link in a strange friendship, which grew with years. For the child’s amusement Blos- som brought wonderful tales out of the storehouse of his imagination; frequently in verse that he strung together during wakeful hours of the night. Dora listened and remembered. As she had said, she learned fast. She was barely twelve when she recalled her promise. “I write truly tell me what to write.” smiled sadly, declaring the de- she insisted and coaxed d, repeating some of the haunted him, and the dor- 1 revive® It was new birth and the girl became his eyes, at had been smothered in uncertainty suddenly de- 1 the poet came into his own. me *“‘our poetry,” as Dora called it, verses with exquisite rhythm, in round childish chirography, found their way R R R B O R S 0000 D DT S TP S S SOOI 50000558 BY ELLSWORTH KELLEY. I was & month t < the pkins s 3 rows of corn w ricks were he road— rambos Uncle Billy. was & time I felt ahead for- looks like he straw stacks, and the flam- ees across the clearing. nodded assent. He, too, loved time, but was less demon- ‘ncle Billy. With great on he cut off & chew and stowed ly in his left cheek. That stuff swells!” Uncle Billy's face creased into a wrin- Kkled old smile. “You've said that same identical thing ev'ry time I've borrowed a chew of you fer ti y year, and it ain't never swelle ~leastways, never but once. yit You remember all about that time, Joe!" ke I do, but I clean forgit all How was it, Billy?” spat and ruminated. much to tell,”” he at length ed. “It was my first chaw, and— lered 1t!" * "Pears I the facts now & B! Twan't ife! Made you might' sick?” o a died! I'd been havin’ chills a year, but that chaw broke Never had the ager senc were silent for many moments. Billy jabbed with his cane at a on a rail. Uncle Joe whittled on a Over in the shade the horses ped and rattled their harness noisily rid themselves of persistent files. The men listened a while to the sounds of he woods—to the querulous calling of the jays, the far-off shoutings of boys along a creek, the mingled jangle of cow bell and tinkle of sheep bell, and to the voices of their daughters. “Joe, 1 never noticed afore how much Lizy Jane's voice soun’s like her ma’s used to. For half & minut’ I almost thought it was her, and you and her and me and Mary all young ag’in.” There was a plaintive tenderness in Un- Joe's voice as he answered: I'm gettin’ old, Willlam, and at times I notice I'm a leetle mite fergitful. But my young days seem mighty near to me yit. And when I think of when we was young together I feel like I'd trade off chances in eternal glory to live them over ag'in—to live 'em over with el day her! “She was as perfect a woman as the continued Uncle Joe, PN Lord ever made,” inued From Page 5.) storeroom. The gold which had i them was forgotten; the immediate eeds of their famished bodles were the things they remembered. They found a box of musty biscuilts filter full of stale and tepld water, ged till they were filled, and nad never sat to so delicious » came the thoughts of and off they went to the finger the coveted gold. here was a disappointment ready and They had gone up nationality trusting and together they ransacked ughness. There were dance, there were clothes ldew, there was a broken cigars, but of money there much as a bronze piece. said Kettle, sitting back on clothes, ““we have had our othing. Some one’s been med the place clean. 4 look on the floor ose cigare ends? They're If the old man had been smoker he wouldn't have s butt on his charthouse deck, he had done, they'd have to bits when she was hove her beam ends. You can see tside that she's been No, it's those fish- who have been here sald McTodd, “if I were a r I could say a deal” e dagos are swearing enough for rhole crowd of us, to judge by the utter of them. The money’s gone D, I vexing. but that's a fact. I don't like to go back empty- handed.” “I'm as keen as yoursel'. There's that £8 of my wages I left when I ran in Gib, that’s got to be made up some- wow. What's wrong with getting oft the hatches, and seeing how her car- go's made up?” “She's loaded with hides. I saw it the manifest. There was Jimmy ead scrawl at the foot of it. 1at photo thers sbove the bed-foot 1 be his wife. Poor old Jimmy. He zot religion before I did, and started insurance, too, and, if he's kept rem both up, he and his widow ought o be all right By James, did you ‘eel that?” McTodd stared round him. “What?" he asked. “She moved.” “I took it for sure she was on the ground.” “So did I. But she isn’t. can feel her lift again.” They went out on deck. There, you The sun was already dipping In the Western sea behind the central hill of the island, and in another few minutes it would be dark. h There is little twilight so far So they took cross-bearings on nd ~atched intently. Yes, there was not a doubt about it. The Duncansby Head floated, and she was moving across the deep water lake that held her, “Mon! cally, “y future before guessed it.” “I took it for granted she'd beaten her bottom out in getting here: but she's blundered In through the reefs without touching; and if she's come in she can get out again, and we're the fellows to take her.” “With engines.” “With engines, yes. If she’s badly broken down in the hardware shop, we're done. I'd forgotten the machin- ery, and that's a fact. We'll find a lan- tern, and I'll go down with you, Mac, and give them an inspect.” She had been swept, badly swept; everything movable on deck was gone; cargo had shifted, and then shifted back again till she had lost all her list and was in proper trim; the engines were still workable 1f carefully nursed; and, in fact, though battered, she was entirely seaworthy. And while with tired gusto they were comparing these things, weariness at last got the better of them and first one and then the other incontinently dropped off into the dezadest of sleep. That the Duncansby Head had come in unsteered and unscathed through the reefs, and therefors under steam and control could go out again, was on the face of it a very simple and obvious theory to propound; but to discover a passage through the rocks to make this practicable was quite another matter. For three dayp the old P. and O. lifeboat plied up and down from outside the reefs and had twenty narrow escapes from be- ing smashed into staves. It looked as if nature had performed a miracle and taken the steamer bodily in her arms, and lifted her over at least a dozen black walls of stone. At last, by dint of daring and toll, the secret of the pass through the nolsy Epouting reefs was won; it was sounded carefully and methodically for - sunken rocks and noted in all possible ways; and the P. and O. lifebdat was hoisted on the said the engineer enthusiasti- ve a great head, and a great you. I'd never have into editors’ hands and caused comment. So the years passed and Blossom counted each anniversary as it came. “Fifteen to-day,” he sald on one occasion, sighing heavily. “I wish s0 I could see you once—just once.” Dora raised her head from copying; it was unusual for Blossom to chat before the dictation was complete. “How do you look?” continued the blind man, direct- ing his sightless gaze toward her. ““Whose decision shall I render?” Dora laughed deliclously. ‘“‘Mother says a ‘big girl! Aunt Helen ‘gawky,’ but Tom In- sists ‘pretty.’ " “Qf course, Tom Is right. Well, here {s my reme:nbrance.” Fumbling in his pocket he brought out a little case, disclosing a gold locket with a dla- mond set in its heart shape. “Oh, Blossom, how lovely! But what extravagance. You can’t afford it.” “You mistake; I have more money than I need, little pal.” The girl slipped the slender chain about her neck &nd gave the clasp into his hands: then, as he ciumsily fit- ted it together, she threw her arms about his neck and kissed him. His pulses throbbed riotously at the warm touch of her lips, and he hardly dared trust himself to kiss her In return. Strangely enough, it was the last ca- ress she offered. From that birthday she eeemed to leave childhood behind, and the man suffered in the change. He grew to dread the succeeding years. His pal was growing Into womanhood, and so further away from him. He could hawe Illved luxuriously had he desired, but he clung to the old lodg- ing. Critics and public allke acknowl- edged his genius, yet the whole world was bound up in Dora to the blind guthor—Dora, whose voice was as mu- sic, whose step he could distinguish in a million. He encouraged her to talk N N B B N B N D S S D Do DS PO SOOI OB, “and as good. The best in sickness and most helpin’ to them as needed help. And cook! No livin® woman cud beat her makin' potpie, not even Lizy Jane.” “My first wife was a mighty good cook,” interposed Uncle Billy. “‘She was so! But I was always pertic- ular fond of potpie, and*Lizy Jane's ma was nigh perfect at makin' one. And she Wi always purty busy when she was alive, and she wasn't much of a hand to gad ‘round nohow. But shore's October come, jest that shore she'd take a notion in her head that we had to make a day_ of it in the timber.” “We'd git up alrly and she'd fry a chicken er two and fix a dishpanful of @ . A Matter of somethin’ good to eat, and then I'd have/to hook up a team and away to the wood's we'd go. And we'd pick hazelnuts and walnuts and hick'ry- nuts. And we'd eat our dinner by the crick, and she'd be as lively and full of fun as a girl. Blame it, William, I can't nowlise talk about it.” “The Lord gives and the Lord takes away,” began Uncle Billy. "It was one of them dispensations of an all-wise Providence—her removal.” Uncle Joe sat moment doubtfully. Then he replied: he caught her death nursin’ our little boy through his last gickness. It was spotted fever, and she took it an’ dled. I don't b'lieve Providence takes any Int'rest in us mortals. Leastways not in that way.” This was assailing a doctrine pecu- Harly preclous to Uncle Billy. So, to Duncansby’s davits. The Portuguese were driven down into the stokehold to represent double watches of a dozen men and make the requisite steam: McTodd fingered the rusted engines like an artist; and Kettle took his stand alone with the steam wheel on the upper bridge. They had formally signed articles, and apportioned themselves pay, Kettle as master, McTodd as chief engineer, and the Portuguese as firemen, because sal- vage is apporticned pro rata, and the more pay a man is getting the larger is his house. On which account (at Mc- Todd’s suggestion) they awarded them- selves paper stipends which they could feel proud of, and put down the Portu- guese for the ordinary firemgn's wages then paid out of Gibraltar, neither more nor_less. For, as the engineer sald: “There was a fortune to be divided up somehow, and it would be a pity for a pair of unclean Dagos to have more than was gbsolutely necessary, seeing thnlf they would not know what to do with it. Captain Kettle felt it to be one of the supreme moments of his life when he rang on the Duncansby bridge tele- graph to “Half-speed ahead.” Hers was a bid for fortune such as very rarely came in any shipmaster’s way; not get- ting salvage, the larger part of which an owner would finger, for mere assist- ance, but taking to port a vessel which was derelict and deserted—the groatest and rarest plum that the seas could of- fer. It was a thought that thrilled him. But he had not much time for senti- mental musings in this strain. A terri- bly nervous bit of pilotage lay ahead of him; the motive power of his steam- er was feeble and uncertaln, and it would require all his skill and resource- fulness to bring her into deep blue wa- ter. Slowly she backed or went ahead, dodging round to get a square entrance to the railway, and then with a slam Kettle rang on his telegraph to “Full speed ahead,” s0-as to get her under the fullest possible command. She darted out into the narrow, wind- ing lane between the walls of broken water, and the roar of the surf closed round her. Rocks gprang up out of the deep—hungry black rocks, as deadly as explosive torpedoes. With a full com- plement of hands, and with a pilot for years acquainted with the place, it would have been an infinitely danger- ous plece of navigation; with a half- power steamer which had only one man all told upon her decks, and he almost a stranger to the place, it was a miracle how she got out unscathed. But it was & miracle assisted by the most brilliant skill. Kettle had surveyed the channel in the lifebeat, and mapped every rock 1 THOUGHT 1T DASE T OM——% Uncle Joe's skepticism, he responded in trembling, indignant voice: “W-y, J-o-seph Gr-a'-am! You're a gettin’ wickeder ev'ry day you live! A man at your age—with growed-up gran'childern and spells of rheumatlz bad as you hev sometimes—and talkin’ like that!” Uncle Billy paused in im- potent, righteous wrath. “What's the use in gittin’ riled up, Billy? You know I wasn't sayin’ so to rile you. I said so 'cause I think that way.” “But vou ortn’t to think that way! It soun’s llke you was goin’ to the bad —right at the end.of your days. too!” “Billy, I tell you it's jest the way N DL DG ARSI, RGN you look at it. As fer as bein’ wicked, ef you know of anything right real, downright mead I've done fer—fer the last ten years, say—w'y, don't be ateard o' hurtin’ my feelin's, but speak right up. “It ain’t that, Joe. You're one of them that thinks good works is what counts. You ain’t got no realizin’ senfs of havin’ been borned In a state of sin an’ misery.” “Course I hain't, 'cause I don’t b'lieve that way,” cheerfully retorted Uncle Joe. “And this here doctrine of Providence! don’t believe in t!” “Well, not adzacly. I don't b'lleve the Lord keeps track of our down-settin's and uprisin’s. I don’t believe, when he sees a man goin' to destruction, he reaches out and grabs him back. I don't know I believe that.” “But Providence does do that very Y in his head, and when the test came he was equal to it. It would be hard, to come across a man of more iron nerve. Backing, and golng ahead, to get round right-angled turns of the fair- way, shaving reefs so closely that the wash from them creamed over her rall, the battered old tramp steamer faced a nillion dangers for every fathom of her onward way; but never once did she ac- tually touch, and in the end she shot out into the clear, deep water, and gally hit diamonds from the wavetops into the sunshine, It is possible for a man to concentrate himself 5o deeply ypon one thing that he is deaf to all else {n the world; and until he had worked the Duncansby Head out into the open Captain Kettle was in this condition. He was dimly conscious of voices haillng him, but he had no leishure to glve them heed. But when the strain was taken off then there was no more dis- regarding the cries. He turned his head and saw a half sunk raft, which seven men with clumsy paddles were frantically laboring toward him along the outer edge of the reefs. Without a second thought he rang oft engines, =nd the steamer lost her way and fell into the trough and waited for them. From the first he had a foreboding as to Who they were; but the men were obvi- ously cast away; and by all the laws of tho sea and humanity he was bound to rescue them. Ponderously the raft paddled up and got under the steamer's lee. Kettle came down off the bridge and threw them the end of a halliard, and.eagerly enough they scrambled up the rusted plating and clambered over the rail. “I left my pip uck behind that stan- chion” eald one, “and, by gum,/it's thers I wonder if they’ve scoffed my chest.” ‘‘You Robinson Crusoes seem to be mak- ing yourselves at home,” sald Kettle. One of the men knuckled his shock of hair. “We was on her, sir, when she hap- pened her accident., We got oft in the captain’s boat, and she was smashed to bits landing on Great Salvage yonder. ‘We've been living there ever since on rab- bits and gulls and cockles till we built that raft and ferried over here. It was tough living, but I guess we were better Oft than the poor beggars that were swamped in the other boats.” The other two boats got picked up.” “Did they, though? Then I call it beast- Iy hard luck on us.” “Captain Mulready was master, wasn't he? Did he get drowned when your boat went ashore?” The sallor shrugzed his shoulders. “Nb, ) o Providence | Fo'e’s'le door's stove in,” sald another; _myself on Great Piton yonder. thing, Joe. W'y, I know a story—" But Uncle Joe broke in: Say, Billy, what'd you think about the case of M's’ Wilkins? You recollect her?” “Shorely, shorely. She was a faithful member fer nigh on thirty year. She had a wonderful clear and refreshin’ ex- perfence; and shout—it did my old soul good jest to hear her the night her man comes to the mourner’s bench. Sue dled a shoutin’ praises to the Lord. Brother Bemis preached her funeral, and he said it was- ope of them dispensations of Providence past all findin’ out.” “Adzacly,” sald Uncle Joe. “She waded a mile through the wet snow to meetin’ and took her dedth o' cold. Providence i dldn’t hev nothin’ to do with it. It was her own keerlessness.” Further discussion was shut off by the clang of a distant dinner bell, and the voice of Lizy Jane calling, “Pap, ain't It ‘most dinner time?" and then the two old men climbed down from the fence and made their way lelsurely to the spring ‘wagon. “Pap, if you'll go to the crick after some water and Uncle Billy'll make a fire, I'll make you both a good cup of coffee.” Uncle Joe took a bucket and started to- ward the creek. Uncle Billy busied him- self with the fire, which he soon had blazing. With keen relish they fell to eating. The old men ate with almost boyish zest, and rallled each other about the way victuals disappeared. sir, Captain Mulready’'s on the raft down yonder. He feels all crumpled up to find the old ship’s afloat, and you've got her out. She'd a list on when we left her that would have scared Beresford, but she's chucked that straight again, and who's to believe it was ever there?" Kettle grated his teeth. “Thank you, my lad,” he sald. “I quite see. Now get below and find yourself something to eat, and then you go forrard and turn too.” Then, leaning his head over the bulwark, he called down: “Jimmy!" The broken man on the raft looked up, “Hullo, Kettle, that you?” “Yes. Come aboard.” “No, thanks. I'm off back to the ls- land. “I'll start a picnic there of my own. Good luck, old man.” “If you don't come aboard willingly, I'll send and have you fetched. Quit fooling.” “Oh, If you're set on it,” said the other tiredly, and scrambled up the rope. .H- looked around with a drawn face. “To think she should have lost that list, and righted herself like this. I thought she might turn turtle any minute when we quitted her, ahd I'm not a scary man either.” “I know you aren’t. Come into the eharthouse and have a drop of whisky. There's your missus' photo stuck up over the bedfoot. How's she?” “Dead I hope. It wul save her going to the workhouse.” i “Oh, rats! it’s not as bad as that” “It you'll tell me why not? I shall lose my ticket over this job, sure, when it comes before the board of trade, and what owner’s likely to give me another ship?”’ 5 “gvnll. Jimmy, you'll have to sail small and live on your insurance.” “I dropped that years ago and drew out what thers was. Had to—with eight kids, you know. They take a lot of feed- ‘Eight kids, by James!" “Yes, elght kids, poor little beggars, and the missus and me all to go hungry from now onward. But they do say work- houses are very comfortable nowadays. Youw'll look in and see us sometimes— won’t you, Kettle?’ He lifted the glass which had been handed to him. “Here's luck to you, old man, and you deserve it. I bought that whisky from a chand- ler in Rio. It's a drop of right, isn't 1t?” “Here, chuck it,” sald Kettle. “I'm sorry,” sald Captain Mulready, “but you shouldn’t have had me on board. I should have been better picnicking by I can't make a cheerful shipmate for you, old man.” “Brace up,” sald Kettle. about her friends, her ambitions, and —7ves, he made her tell him about Tom, too—Tom, who had grown to be a man, and on whom Dora’s mother looked with favor. “I must be going noy.” sald Dora, after a fruitless afternoon, Blossom having been unable to settle to the task. “Tom coming?” “Yes.” Her volce was a little tired. Blossom noticed it “You have not quarreledr “Tom never will. Blossom, do you want me to marry Tom?" “Marry!” The attack was sudden. “Marry! It's beautiful when young peo- ple love enough for that. Bus your mother were better consulted. I am only an old bachelor.” “You are my pal,” persisted the girl, impatiently. ‘“Mother married young—she thinks I should, but—I don’t want to be hurried.” *Quite right,” began Blossom gquick- 1y; then, pulling himself together. “Tom's a nice boy—he will make a good hus- band-—"" “He’s all you say—I suppose I shall take him. Blossom, I know he is golng to ask me to-night.” The girl hung over the back of her friend's chair. Hs could feel her breath on his cheek, but it was 2 pity he could not see the look in her eyes. Blossom gripped the arm rests as for support. “God bless you both, little pal” he sald steadily. “I know you will be & good wife. Tom's a lucky fellow.” “You think I had better take him— you wish me to—~" The girl bent still closer—her hair brushed his forehead. “I wish—only your happiness.” “Dora—Dora!” It was her mother calling. Dora moved hesitatingly to- ward the door. “We will always be pals—always, just the same?” ARG When the horses had been watered at the creek and had been fed ten ears of corn ‘apiéce, Lizy Jane asked, *“Well papa, what we goin' to do now? kj ’round and act like we was at a picnic? Then it was Uncle Joe smote his thigh and exclaimed: “I vum! I mighty near forgot to tell you somethin’. There's & place over yander in Beecham's back pas- tur’ where there’s hick'rynuts on the ground thick as the hair on a dog’s back! Big. nice, shellbarks, too.” “Beecham don’t 'low no pickin’ in his back pastur’,” objected Uncle Billy. “Yes, he does, too! Leastways, he said we might. He said he’d kep’ the boys chased out, and from the looks o' the ground 1 guess he has. Lizy Jane, you and Nancy Ann brings the sacks. Billy, help carry the buckets, will you?” Uncle Joe piloted the party to the nut- ting ground. There were nuts in plenty, even as he had sald, and with many ex- clamations of pleased surprise they fell to gathering them up. . A?lut the nuts were all gathered—al- most three bushels of them. Then Uncle Billy found some vines of wild fox grapes along the creek bank. He and Uncle Jos pulled and tugged and tore at the tangled vines, and at last they had their buckets filled with jpes—ripe, Dblack-julced, musky-odored—which the women declared made the finest of all fine grape jelly. “It was a heavenly perfect day,” sald Uncle Billy with a sigh of satisfaction, as he and Uncle Joe paused for a final word at the barnlot gate. *““And it looks to me, Joe, when I consider how your feet was led to the only identical spot in the woods where there was any nuts; w'y, Joseph, it looks to me like a plain case of the hand of Providence. What on airth are you laughin’ at, Joe? I don't ses any- thing to laugh at!” “Mebby you don’t now, but mebdby you will when I tell you somethin’. It's like THE SALVING OF THE DUNCANSBY HEAD. “By the Lord, if I'd only been a day earlier with that raft,” sald the other, musingly, “I could have taken her out, as you have done, and brought her home, and I belleve the firm would have kept me on. There nced have been no Inquiry; only ‘delayed,’ that's all; no one c.,_.ru 80 long as a ship turns up some time. & “It wouldn't have made any difference, sald Kettle, frowning. “Some of those lousy Portuguese have been on board and scoffed all the money.” “What money?"* “Why, what she'd earned—what thers was in the charthouse drawer.” The disheveled man gave a tired chuc- kle. “Oh, that's all right. I put in at Las Palmas and transferred it to the bank there and sent home the receipt by the B. & A. mailboat to Liverpool. No; I'm pleased enough about the money. But it's this other thing I made the bungle of— Just belng a day too late with that raft.” Kettle heard a sound and sharply turned his head. He saw a grimy man In the doorway. “Mr. McTodd,” he sald, “who the mischief gave you leave to quit your engine-room? Am I to understand you've been standing there {n that doorway to lsten?” “Her own engineer’s come back, so I handed her over to him and came on deck for a spell. As for listening, I've heard every word that's been sald. Cap- tain Mulready, you have my very deep- est condolences.” “Mr. McTodd,” sald Kettle, with a sud- den blaze of' fury, 'm captain of this ship, and you're intruding. Get to Ham- let out of here.” He got up and strode furiously out of the door, and Mr. Mc- Todd retreated before him. “Now keep your hands off me,” sald the engineer, “I'm as mad about the thing as yourself, and I don't mind blow- ing off a few pounds of temper. I'don’t know Captain Mulready, and you do, but I'd hate to see any man all crumpled up like that if I could help it.” “He could be helped by giving him back Mis ship, and I'd do it if I was by myself. But I've got a Scotch partner, and I'm not going to try for the impossible.” “Dinna abuse Scotland,” sald Me- Todd, wagging a grimy forefinger. “It's your ain wife and bairns ye're thinking about.” - “I ought to be, Mac, but, God help me, I'm not.” “Varra weel,” sald McTodd; “then, if that's the case, skipper, just set ye doon here and we'll hav palaver.” “I'll hear what you've got to say” said Kettle, more civilly, and for the next half-hour the palr of them talked as earnestly as oply poor men can talk Blossom lifted his head. “Always,” he promised. “Don't think about me You love Tom.” “I love Tom—yes—" Then the door closed, and Blossom sank back in his chalr. Misery showed livid in his face and stooping shoulders. Dora loved Tom! It had come at last. It seemed as if this second loss were greater, more terrible, than that of his sight He was doubly bereft. He had prom- 1sed the girl' they would remain pals— but new ties, new dutles, would arise; the old must be laid aside—he must school himself to be alone The sweat tice of the passing of time. Sottly, timidly, some one touched him on the shoulders. THe man thrilled; his soul leaped out to m Passionately his arms opened and claimed the girlish figure of his pak felt her throbbing in trembling of her hands as to him. “Blossom—Blossom, speak she whispered. “Tell me you “Love you—as & saint his Godl who is thers in all the world like you? “Why did you make me suffer—why aid you make me speak?™ she gues tioned, half sobbing. “I thought it was Tom———/" “I love Tom—as & brothea™ clung still closer. “Men are so stupid” “But, child, I fear I do you wrong I'm growing old—I'm always helpless— blind 4 “I love you—only you, Blossom, just pretend I am Miss Arabella, and—hold me close—!t comforts—Ilots—" And Blossom, stooping, kissed her on the mouth. 3 (Copyright, 1908, by E. C. Parcella) this: When I went up to Bescham’s after water and told him we was after nuts end not findin’ any, he says, ‘Of course not, 'cause I've had them all picked up myself. I've five barls over thar in the smokehouse and ev'ry bar'l has got thrée bushel in it! “1 studied a minut’, and then I wanted to know what he'd take fer a barl ‘A hull bar'l?” he sald, and I sald, ‘Yes; a hull bar'l.’ He studied some and figgered a little with a nail on his bootlet, and then he "lowed he'd sell me a hull bar'l for three dollars. *“ ‘Done!” I sald, ‘but you'll hev to he'p me do one thing.' And when I told him what, he jest laughed and laughed. So we rolled that bar’l o' nuts down under them hick’ry trees and we jest sowed them nuts by the bucketful. ‘I jinks, Uncle Joe,” he sald when we got done, ‘I've sowed wheat 'n’ oats, and I've sowed flax and turnip seed, but this Is the fu'st time in all my born days that I ever he'ped put in a crop o hick’ry nuts! Talk o" the hand o' Providence! Haw- haw-haw! Ob, Billy, Billy! “Even so, Joseph; even so! Bellevin® all you say, which I nowise misdoubt, ef you hadn’t been led to go to Beecham's instid o’ the crick, you wouldn't a seen them nuts; and ef you hadn't & seen ‘em you wouldn't a bought "em; and ef you hadn't a bought ‘em we wouldn't a had any. It was the Lord that led your footsteps, Joe. It's as remarkable a case of Provi- dence as I ever seel” Uncle Joe chewed hard at the ends of his billy-goat beard for a moment. Then, as he caught the rapt expression of triumphant faith on the other old man's face he cast aside the argument he was about to offer in rebuttal and gently. an- swered, “I vum, Billy! It does look like you had a leetls the best end of the argument, after alll” Copyright by the 5. S. McClure Company. when they are deliberately making up their minds to resign a solid fortune which is already within their reach. And at the end of that talk Kettle put out his hand and took the engineer’s in a heavy grip. “Mac,” he sald, “you're Scotch, but you're a gen- tleman right through under your clothes.” ' “I was born to that estate, skipper, and I no more wanted to see yon puir deevil pulled down to our level than you do. Better go and give him the news and I'll get our boat in the water again, and revictualed.” “No,” said Kettle, “I can’t stand by and be thanked. You go. Il see to the boat.” “Be hanged if I do!” said the engl- neer. “Write the man a letter. You're great on the writing line; I've seen you at " And so in the tramp’s main cabin below Captain Kettle penned this epistle: “To Captain J. R. Mulready: “Dear Jimmy—Having concluded not to take trouble to work Duncansby Head home, have pleasure in leaving her to your charge. We, having other game on hind, have now taken French leave and shall now bear up for Western islands. You've no call to say anything about our being on board at all. . Spin your own yarn; it will never be contradicted. “Yours truly, “0. KETTLE, Master. “pp—N. A. McTodd, chief engineer, 0.K. “P. 8.—We have taken along these two dagos. If you had them they might talk when you -got them home. We having them, they will not talk. So you've only your own crowd to keep from talking. Good luck, old tintacks.” ‘Which letter was sealed and nailed up in a conspicuous place before the lite: boat left en route for Grand Canary. It was the two Portuguese who fely themselves principally aggrieved men. They had been made to undergo a great deal of work and hardship; they had been defrauded of much plunder which they quite considered was theirs, for the bene- fit of an absolute stranger in whom they took not the slightest interest: and, final- ly, they were induced ‘“not to talk™ by processes which jarred u ke s 3 pon them most They did not talk, and in the ness of time they returned to the ;vt::.uo. of shoveling coal on steam vessels. But when they sit down to think, neither An- tonio nor his friend (whose honored name I never learned) regards with affection those little islands in the Northern :hhach produced Captain Owen Kettle > sometime partuer, Mr. Neil Aagus